


Meet Puke

by Hard_boiled_candy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: EMT Dean Winchester, Excessive Drinking, Fluff, M/M, Modern AU, Vomiting, Wealthy cas, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:41:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22361260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hard_boiled_candy/pseuds/Hard_boiled_candy
Summary: Tired of being teased about coming to his brother's wedding without a partner, Dean is hammered and looking for a bush to have sex with a stranger in when he runs across a very cute and very drunk - very drunk - guy.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 93





	Meet Puke

Dean, entranced, watched the man attempt to walk along the top of a beached log.

This was no ordinary log; it was the root end of a mature cedar tree, three yards high at one end and looking like somebody big from the Lord of the Rings movies had just chucked it onto the beach, after braining somebody equally enormous with it. It was big and long and round and devoid of lower branches, and it sloped gently down to the sand, all things that made it a challenge for someone this drunk.

There was no denying it. This guy was very, very shit-faced.

Dean walked closer. The man, who was wearing a well-tailored suit, ignored him or, as was more likely, didn’t see him. In the sickly orange streetlight, attenuated after lighting the street and a strip of grass before the beach began, Dean caught a sharp nose and a goofy smile.

Dean shrugged. He was half-snapped himself, having abandoned his own baby brother’s wedding reception after a quick check to see if he might be walking distance from a place he might partake of some anonymous outdoor sex.

His plus one, Lisa, had broken up with him for reasons of sexual incompatibility.

Apparently telling a woman that you can ‘fix’ why she feels that, in her words ‘you’re not that into sex with me’ is : ‘inflammatory’, ‘insulting’ and ‘a classic example of how hard it is to have a mature conversation about anything, including sex, with you’.

Who knew?

Dean enjoyed sex with Lisa and could not understand why his ongoing desire to put her first was somehow a problem. Even though she’d been quite clear, during that last conversation, before he’d had to grab his clothes and bail, that he treated sex with her like a series of boxes to be ticked, and tickled, but that he didn’t really seem to care about his own pleasure, and never talked about what really turned him on. Lisa was being a bit harsh, in Dean’s view; she’d set boundaries from the very beginning. Why couldn’t he?

But he didn’t, not really. He didn’t say anything. And she gave skillful, knowing, wicked head (sigh) and if her son Ben was at a friend’s sometimes she’d nab him in the doorway on the way in from his shift and work him over until he was gasping.

Dean wanted his ass played with and she wouldn’t; oh, well.

Dean figured, so maybe he had found sex with Lisa not exactly super-exciting or challenging, but what was wrong with that? Everybody was having orgasms, what was the big deal?

Now that was over, (bye Dean!), and Sammy and Jess’s wedding was done, he had crossed the street wanting something fast and utterly devoid of bullshit, knowing from websites both legit and sketchy that there was a place to have outdoor sex about 400 yards away, no questions asked. The give and get of a hot and dirty blowjob, that’s what he wanted.

This was, after all, one of the queerest neighbourhoods on earth. There was a fighting chance the man trying to face-plant off that log ( _Jesus, that was close!_ ) would be at least willing to entertain a proposition without wanting to punch him out….maybe.

The man stretched his arms up, briefly simulating an angel falling. Sand, remnants of previous falls, twinkled like glitter as it shed from his arms and shoulders. He ran down the log and then fell into the sand. Almost instantly he got up, said, “How invigorating!” in a pleased voice, and then he puked in a continuous stream like a sideways-blowing geyser for eight seconds, by Dean’s count. He was an EMT, he couldn’t help it; even drunk, he tracked a total stranger’s vitals. Dean burst into a slow clap as he moved toward the man.

“Man, you sure needed to let that one go,” Dean said admiringly. “How much’ve you had to drink?”

The man regarded him owlishly. “All of it,” he said. He enunciated like a man moving barefoot amid smashed crockery.

“Well, you weren’t at _our_ party, so I know you didn’t get _all_ of it. How many drinks since noon?”

“Really don’t know. Oh, look.” He kicked sand over his puke with an apologetic air. He wasn’t being very effective, and Dean felt moved to assist the poor guy, so he kicked sand over the puke, too.

“Oh, look, what?” Dean said after a while. The man was swaying and swaying. It was mesmerizing; he was a muscled cobra with a mop of dark hair and enormous eyes.

“There’s a blankie,” the man said, and giggled. “Which is good, for I musht - must I say! lie down.”

“Why are you so drunk,” Dean said in the flattest tone he could manage. Could be gay, could be ace and autistic and unused to alcohol, could be so fucking cute that Dean was intrigued and trying not to act like it.

“Ex-boyfriend’s wedding party.” The enunciation was so precise it hurt; he was radiating alcohol, all flushed and shiny.

“Jesus fucking Christ in tit clamps,” Dean said, too horrified by this not to exclaim in the vernacular.

“Oh. Oh ho. Oh, yes that was very funny, say it again,” the man cackled. His laughter was so infectious that Dean was smiling. “Jesus fucking Christ in tit clamps,” Dean repeated slowly, as if he was teaching a useful phrase in English to a newcomer, this time with a big smile rather than sounding horrified. They laughed for a long time, and it felt like a long needed release of tension.

“So, buddy. ‘Splain this thing to me,” Dean said, when he had recovered somewhat. They were now sitting on the blanket, since standing wasn’t fun any more. “How’d’ja end up in your ex-boyfriend’s wedding party?”

“He asked me,” the man said. This time Dean wanted to kiss that owlish look off his face, and managed to remember over his drunken lust that the guy had just finished upchucking a fuckton of shitty open-bar-alcohol.

“I’m going to resht now. I’ve had a ferry tiring day.” And with that he fell asleep. Passed out, really.

Dean made sure he was in recovery position and then continued on his way to materially support the right of strange men to have sex with each other outdoors after dark. Halfway to his destination, as far as his hazy memory served, he lifted a foot and literally stopped. Something was wrong. With the instincts of a decade as an EMT nipping at his heels, he ran back to the man on the blanket, who was just starting to choke.

Dean got him breathing properly before the man could get really scared at the close call. He spluttered for a moment, and then coughed occasionally, leaning into Dean’s arms for support. “Where am I?” the man said fearfully. He coughed fitfully again, tried to stand and did such a shitty job of it that he decided in the end to lie down.

Dean watched his antics without comment. “English Bay Beach,” he said. “Vancouver.”

“Oh God. My ex’s wedding. You were just here,” the man said. “You touched me.”

“I put you in recovery position,” Dean protested.

“I want you to touch me some more,” the man said, almost menacingly. All that vomiting was making his voice raspy. Dean laughed once. “Are you sure you’ve finished pukin’? I’d hate to touch you and have to pay extra to clean this puppy.” He gestured at what was left of his rented tux.

The man’s voice was a moan. “I don’t know if there’s any left. I feel quite drained.”

“In my experience, once you _really_ get going there’s no telling how much and how hard you can hurl.”

“I wish you hadn’t said that,” the man said resentfully. He rolled over, barked twice, and wiped his mouth after the spray. He lay back down. Dean decided to keep an eye on him; he was too impaired to leave alone.

He fell asleep. Passed out, really.

He woke to the familiar hiss of an emergency worker’s radio, and realized, as the flashlight in his face fucking near blinded him, and as the cop sang a familiar refrain, that they were being rousted for sleeping on the beach at 3 am.

His anonymous buddy clung to him, his eyes squinting and timid, and Dean said to him, “Let’s cross the street, my hotel room’s over there.”

The cop behind him laughed and said to his partner, “What the hell was he doing sleeping on the beach? It isn’t even _Pride_ Week! Tourists.”

“Where’s your hotel, buddy?” Dean said.

“My name is Castiel,” he replied. He extended an arm, which dinged Dean in the ribs. “Over there someplace. I can’t remember the name of it, right now I mean.”

“I bet you can’t. My name is Dean.”

“Really? Dean? ’S a very manly name.”

Dean had been hearing variants of this his whole life, and avoided answering by saying,“Castiel’s too long. Cas is better.”

“It sounds like a girl’s name either way,” Cas said. “Excuse me,” he said, and he puked into a waist-high decorative vase, very neatly. It was like watching a cat sick up. There was no way in fucking hell he was developing a puke fetish, it was Cas who was so intriguing. Dean sighed, picked the vase up, took it to the horrified desk clerk and said, “Put it on room 421, whatever the cleaning charge is.”

At which point Sam, out of his tux and into jeans and a hoodie and beanie, exploded out of the elevator and came at Dean like a missile.

“Oh boy,” Dean said helplessly. He began to hiccup.

“So you fucked off from our reception — did it ever occur to you that Jess is so worried she’s upstairs _weeping_ on her _wedding_ night, you fucking jackass! — and now you’ve picked up some — guy — and you’re going to take him upstairs and bang him?”

“No,” Dean said. “Not that it’s your concern.”

“Dean was helping me be sick,” Cas said. His little grin when he hiccuped just about killed Dean. And then he straightened out and tried to look serious, and keep his eyes lined up, and look at Sam. Dean smothered a laugh, looked down and schooled his face.

“He was choking on the beach,” Dean said quietly.

“Yes,” Cas said, very serious.

“What?”

“I was choking. Dean got me breathing again,” Cas confirmed. He was smiling at Dean again. “I’m really sorry I puked in the vase but I just grabbed the first thing I thought would hold it.”

“You puked in a vase?” Sam said, disgusted.

“Better than the carpet,” the desk clerk called out. “I don’t want to have to smell it while I wait for someone to clean it. So I’m not happy you puked in my lobby but you did us all a solid.”

Sam blew out a couple of sighs, and he seemed ready to wind up and throw at Dean again, so Dean forestalled him.

“Sam, I went hic for a walk to clear my head. I’m still not over Lisa and I guess it shows - it was only hic a month ago for Chrissakes. A couple of people at the reception hic had been drinking, like me, and they started asking me what happened, and I thought it would be better if I left rather than made a hic scene.”

“You could have called.”

“I got distracted. Did you even get drunk, Sammy? At your own wedding? There’s something a little too hic prim and proper about you, like ya don’t have the family vices.”

His brother’s face set in a grimace, his frown lines stark. “You’re the expert on those,” he said contemptuously. “I’m going back to bed, after I tell my wife to quit crying over you, you butthead.” His expression grew fiercer. As a parting shot, he said, “You know, I’m this sober because Jess asked me to be, and I’ve wasted it on worrying about you. Fuck you, Dean.” He left.

“I’m so sorry I made your brother mad at you!” Cas said.

“Don’t worry. It had hic nothing to do with you.”

“I should go back to my hotel but I can’t remember the name.”

“Relax. I need your last name so I can put you in my room.”

“Serafino.” He braced himself. To his delight, Dean didn’t recognize his name, and he smiled as soon as he realized. “Castiel Serafino, at your service.”

“Dean Winchester, at yours.” They grinned at each other.

“Is this an unexpected party or a long-expected one?” Cas said.

In two minutes they were in Dean’s room. Dean, ignoring the tension, said, “I want you to drink two eight-ounce glasses of water.”

“I don’t care about that,” Cas said piteously. “All I can think about is brushing my teeth.”

Dean shrugged. “Use mine, I’ll rinse it in mouthwash afterwards.”

“You’d let me use your toothbrush?”

“Why not?” Dean said. “Got plans for that mouth.”

Understanding took place at a slower rate than normal. “Oh.”

Cas brushed his teeth, working around Dean nuzzling him from behind and smoothly undoing all his shirt buttons. Cas looked at Dean’s eyes in the mirror and Dean pressed his hard-on into anything of Cas’s it could touch, gripping him so that he grunted and sighed. Cas rinsed his mouth, and Dean switched places with him, and found Cas reaching for his fly. While Cas breathed hot puffs onto his neck he reached down Dean’s loosened pants to cradle one butt cheek. He squeezed and moaned and Dean moaned too.

“We’re kinda too drunk to be doing this,” Dean said.

Cas’s response was to make a slow drunken pivot into Dean’s arms. His eyes were black and his breath could peel paint. “Can we fuck before we talk ourselves out of this.”

“Honestly, I’m not sure about this. We should shleep.”

“Your brother already thinks the worst of me.”

“You _are_ an amazing puker, but I don’t see what else he’d have against you, Sam’s usually pretty reasonable.”

“We just shared a toothbrush and you ground me like hamburger. Ishn’t that a declaration of sexual interest?”

“I don’t want you to have sex with me and then regret it.”

“Not having sex with you is _definitely_ something I would regret if I had the opportunity and failed,” Cas said with harrowing certainty.

Dean chuckled. “I don’t understand how you can be alcohol-poisoning-level drunk and stay so goddamned coherent; nay, even eloquent.” The arm gesture that went with that was pretty funny.

“Alcohol poisoning?” Cas asked, frowning. Dean had pulled away from him.

“Yes.”

Cas sounded dubious, and then cheerful. “If you say so. What’s the forecast for an overdose of dick?”

There was a little halt in time, before they crashed into each other, only to back away to get their shirts off. They sloppy-kissed while dragging each other slowly up the bed, rolling each other over in a cross between a puppy brawl and a full-on demonstration of hominid dominance. They both collected some bruises.

Cas was exclaiming from a slam. Dean covered his mouth with his own, and then things got weird, and slow, and sensuous. Anyone watching them, not hearing how their shallow breathing had sped up, might think they’d fallen asleep while kissing.

They were on the bed, half naked, trying to show off their kissing skills. Nothing on earth had ever felt like this to Dean. He was always the boss of a sexual encounter, in total control. Cas palmed his dick through his pants with one hand and caressed his scalp with the other and Dean exclaimed and grabbed onto him harder.

His pulse thundered and he sighed into Cas’s mouth. Every sense yielded astonishment. The toothpaste flavour giving way to Cas’s true essence made him fiendishly horny, thinking of how amazing his dick must taste if his mouth was so tasty. The sting from Cas’s five o’clock shadow told him, you wanted a man and here he is, hot and strong and ready for you. The salty starburst that went off in his mouth when he licked the head of Cas’s cock almost made his eyes roll back in his head. He smelled like the memory of a perfect dream.

They ended up jerking each other off, Cas being too drunk for oral sex (‘I’m scared I’ll puke’), and Dean went into caregiver mode and got the washcloth. When he was done he looked down at Cas, who’d rolled over face down, eyes closed, and said, “There’s two beds. Want your own?” and was warmed, all the way through, when Cas murmured, “Stay.”

“I’ve got to do one more thing to you okay?”

“Wumf,” Cas said. His voice in his ear while he was coming was still echoing in his body. Then he makes soft silly noises like that and Dean wants to grab him and rut up against him again or maybe just grab him.

“I’m going to make you slowly drink some water. It won’t prevent the hangover but it really helps.”

“M’kay.”

Cas managed to sit up. His expression was reverent, although the full effect was marred by his failure to focus both eyes. “You’re so wonderful,” he said. He drank his water and sighed with his whole body in what felt like a really trusting way. They banged into each other a couple of times, new couple awkwardness, but otherwise they both passed into unconsciousness with no trouble.

Waking brought immediate problems. Dean staggered naked to the door and put the chain lock on before he opened, since someone was banging on it quite hard. It was his brother.

“Don’t you have a honeymoon to fly to?” Dean asked hoarsely. His mouth felt like a desiccated pit toilet and his eyelids were sandy flaps of canvas.

“What’s happening?” Cas said, in mild and confused tones. Then, sitting up, he said in consternation, “Where am I?”

“Denman Villa Suites,” Dean said.

“I don’t think that’s my hotel,” Cas said, in slow realization.

Sam came close to losing it. “May I come in? You realize you have to check out in about four minutes and that means you have to get your one night stand back into his clothes,” Sam said, shaking his head and almost smiling in his dismay.

“It’s fine, Dean,” Cas said. “I’ll get dressed.” He got out of bed, tangled himself in bedclothes and fell hard, catching himself on the stuffed chair.

“I’m okay,” came a muffled voice. “I should probably find and then go check out of my hotel.”

“How’s your head, Cas?” Dean said, which was a little mean.

“I don’t understand how I can feel this bad and still move,” Cas admitted. He started to find his clothes, moving like a human-sloth hybrid.

Sam said, “Well, I’ll let you two lovebirds get back to it,” and he turned and just before Dean shut the door, he heard Sam say, “Cas? Dean, is that guy Cas Serafino?”

“That’s what he says.”

“He’s loaded.”

Cas was in the bathroom, and didn’t overhear this.

“So? Why should I care?”

“If there’s one thing that being a lawyer has taught me,” Sam said, “It’s that there’s no end to how outright manipulative, childish and, and _feud_ -prone wealthy people can be. I know this guy has a public reputation of being a complete sweetheart but those are the fuckers you have to look out for. Stay sharp.” Sam left.

Cas came out of the bathroom, dressed and if not exactly smooth, at least not too rumpled.

“I’ve missed my flight,” he said sadly.

“Where do you live?”

“Seattle.”

“I live in Arlington.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. Wanna drive back with me instead?”

Cas smiled.

“I should probably check out of my hotel first.”

“We should get a nice greasy breakfast.”

Cas’s eyebrows went up. Food seemed unwise.

“Are you loaded?”

“What?”

“Sam says you’re loaded.”

A shadow fell across Cas’s face.

“Is it a problem?”

“For you maybe, I’m broke as fuck,” Dean said comfortably.

“I can’t help who my parents were,” Cas said. “I’m giving the money away as fast as I can.”

“You are?”

“Honestly.”

“If you’re loaded, why’d your ex ditch you.”

“Younger man, and he’s rich in his own right.”

“Fuck that noise. You’re exactly the right age, old enough to know better.”

Cas held his head and moaned his agreement. “I guess.”

They found a place still serving breakfast at one in the afternoon, and Cas called his ex on his cell phone, which he had managed not to lose, to apologize for ditching the reception.

“But it’s all good,” Cas said. “I’ve met the most wonderful man.”

Dean nearly spat his out his coffee.

“I’m not wonderful.”

“You are so,” Cas said, like a little kid. He was ignoring his ex, and the new husband, who were screaming into the phone that he’d wrecked everything.

“Well, it was easy to wreck then, because I left quietly and didn’t make a scene; you’re the ones with problems, not me.”

He disconnected. “Can you believe it they’re threatening to sue me for leaving the reception.”

“My bro’s a lawyer,” Dean said, with false consternation. “Should I be worried about him suing me?”

“No.”

It was a hassle, checking out of the other hotel. Some of the other wedding guests were leaving and they bitched Cas out right in the lobby. Dean, who’d been doing his best to be inconspicuous, marched up to one of the ex's random friends and said, “Wanna free punch in the nose?”

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m the guy Cas is banging, and I want y’all to stop yelling at him or you’re gonna catch hands.”

“You can’t threaten me with assault!”

“Dean!” Cas called breathlessly, and dragged Dean away. As soon as they were out of earshot and in the cab, Cas laughed and then held his head.

“I wish you had punched him, but I’m so glad you didn’t.”

The drive down to Arlington was amazing. The weather couldn’t have been more splendid and sunny, with a beautiful breeze and big puffy clouds, and the miles rolled away while they talked and laughed. They pulled over at a rest stop on the US side of the border and blew each other in the front seat of the Impala after Dean put up the window inserts, which blocked people from looking in.

Dean drove down Chuckanut Drive with his arm around someone. A special someone. Someone whose come he’d just wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand.

“We really shouldn’t.” Cas had said.

Dean’s week-old STI test results were in the glovebox; he offered them up to Cas with a wave. “I ain’t scared of your germs if you ain’t scared of mine.”

“Why are they in your _car_?”

“Saves time,” Dean said.

He hadn’t done that in years, driving down this wonderful stretch of two-lane, the sight of the sun dancing on the ocean breaking through the tunnel of trees. There were a lot of blind corners, but Baby knew her way around.

Cas kept exclaiming at how beautiful it was.

“How is it you live in Seattle and you’ve never driven down this stretch of highway!?” Dean asked.

“Because God in His infinite wisdom chose for me to wait until I could do it with you,” Cas said.

“Are you always this gushy and romantic?”

“No.”

“I’m not very romantic,” Dean said. He was lying.

“That’s okay,” Cas said. “I’ve got enough for two.”

They stopped in Arlington because Cas wanted to see Dean’s stepdad's business. (“It’s a scrap yard, Cas, they’re all pretty much the same.”) Ash and Bobby came out front when they heard the Impala and Bobby, who looked like and sounded like a hillbilly and was one of the smartest, kindest and best-read men Dean had ever met, said, “Cas Serafino?”

“Yup,” Dean said laconically. No surprise that Bobby knew who was who.

“What are you doing in a dump like this?” Ash asked. He recognized the name, and that he was local, and loaded, but otherwise was at a loss.

“Technically it’s a salvage operation or auto wreckers,” Cas said. “Not a dump.”

Dean chuckled. In all his life he’d never met any one who could make him laugh harder with less effort. Well, maybe Sammy, years ago, but he was a special case. He put an arm around Cas and squeezed affectionately. Cas caught the look in Bobby’s eye; Dean did not.

“Are you two….?” Ash asked. Mr. Tact was not one of his soubriquets.

Dean shrugged airily. Cas gave a reminiscent, a very, “I just got laid,” smile.

“How was the wedding?” Ash asked.

Dean shrugged again. Bobby hadn’t gone to the wedding; he and Sam had fallen out a couple of years back and he hadn’t been invited. It was a slap in the face to the man who had practically raised him, but what could you do? Sam had fallen in love with a rich girl and his life had changed, and Bobby’s most emphatically had not.

“I’m going to be gone for a couple of days,” Dean said. He had another couple of days off. Bobby needed to know not to expect him.

“You are?” Bobby said drily.

“You are?” Cas said, smiling.

Dean said, “I’ll be on my cell.”

They stopped at a fantastic steak house just off the I-5, and Cas blanched at the wine list.

“Please… no alcohol,” he said to the server.

“I’m driving,” Dean said, shrugging.

They had lots to talk about. Cas talked about building schools; it appeared that he was incredibly practical as well as a being a great big softie. He made sculptures and painted and sketched; he could make furniture and he spoke four languages besides English; he knew Aikido and meditated half an hour a day. He could read a balance sheet or comfort a screaming child or dig a ditch or run a marathon, if his anecdotes were anything to go by.

Dean talked about his difficult relationships with all of his male relatives and chosen kin; his failed ‘starter marriage’ when he was 24 to a woman who’d lied her ass off about everything, and overdosed and died six months into their marriage because Dean had somehow failed to notice that she was addicted to Oxycontin and maybe some things worse than that.

“You’re bi?”

“These days I prefer men,” Dean said, his voice like the back end of a gravel truck.

Dean talked about his love of simple things like food and pie and rock music from the 70s and Dr Sexy and, had he mentioned pizza yet; his fight to find some kind of exercise which would allow him to eat whatever the hell he wanted (“Hour and a half workout, every other day. I fuckin’ hate it and I’d fuckin die without it, so there you go.”) He talked about his fucked up childhood but only in very, very general terms, and they kept right on talking until they pulled up at Cas’s place. It was well after dark by that point; they’d set out around three, but with all the stops, they’d made a three hour run into seven hours.

“Fuck me,” Dean said blankly. It was a palace, an estate, a mansion, ‘one hell of an imposing pile’ as Bobby would say. Whatever it was, it was huge; you could park three tour buses side by side in the driveway and still have room to manoeuvre.

“Is that an invitation, or a comment on the family home?” Cas said.

“Both,” Dean said.

“Okay,” Cas said. “Park anywhere.”

“Sure,” Dean said.

“I have staff, just so you know. Inias is my assistant with the charity business and Celeste is my household manager, which means she does a little bit of everything including cook and keep my clothes in order. They have their own soundproofed quarters when they want to stay overnight; Celeste normally does and Inias goes home.”

“So nobody’s going to listen to us as we leave a trail of body fluids all over your house.”

Cas frowned, but it was meant to be comical. “I think I’d prefer to keep everything in the master suite - we’ve got everything we want in there. Stocked bar, reheatable meals, two person soaker-jacuzzi, sauna —“

“Bowling alley,” Dean said.

With a straight face, Cas said, “Downstairs. There are also half a dozen classic pinball games, four different consoles loaded to the rafters with games - the ex’s idea, not mine, please believe me - a couple of cars you might like to drool on, an endless pool, yet another swimming pool which I’m seriously thinking of filling in with a fish pond, and bunches of other little bits of wretched excess you might find entertaining.”

“You really are loaded.”

“I won’t be when I die,” Cas promised.

“Seriously.”

“Well, I’m giving it all away. I thought of adopting somebody and leaving it to them, but honestly, I’m just waiting to get some family matters squared away and I’m ditching this place.”

“Dibs on the cars and the pinballs.”

“What, you’re not interested in my sword collection?”

“I got a Swiss Army knife, a bowie knife and a big ass machete that’s sharp as a fuckin’ razor.”

“You’ve been not very subliminally begging me to fuck you for the last two hours, and then you say things like _that_. You want everybody to think you’re butch, don’t you?”

“It has advantages,” Dean said flatly.

“Sure works on me,” Cas said. He blinked slowly, in that way he had. Dean was already used to it.

“Well, now,” Dean said, smiling slowly, “That would be one very definite advantage.”

They hadn’t even gotten out of the car.

They fell silent.

Cas said, “You really don’t want to go in there, do you? You don’t have to. I’ll put you up at a nice hotel.”

Dean flinched as he spoke. Cas did not understand what he had said to dismay or offend Dean, so he stopped.

“What?”, he said softly.

“I think I have enough money for my own hotel room,” Dean said stiffly, “If you’d prefer me elsewhere.”

“Hm.”

Cas got out of the car and came around to the driver’s side. “Get out, Dean, there’s a guest house, you can’t even see the main house from there.”

“Really, there’s two guest houses,” Dean said.

“True,” Cas said, “And where did you pick up that tidbit?”

“My brother texted me,” Dean said. Against his intent, he smirked. “I’m the kind of asshole who distracts his brother on his honeymoon. He’s trying to make it very clear to me that you are just a rich poser and you’re going to break my heart and you’ve probably put an exit strategy together already,” Dean said.

“I have an exit strategy,” Cas said.

“You do?” Dean said. He looked weird for a second, and then laughed. “Do tell.”

“I’m going to hang out with you until you don’t want to hang out with me any more,” Cas said.

“What makes you think _I’ll_ want to stop?”

“You won’t be able to deal with me being rich, and you won’t believe I’m literally getting rid of it as fast as I ethically can, as stupid as that sounds. My personal responsibilities at the moment include helping to run businesses which are income sources supporting almost two thousand people. I’m able to have a good time, but I’m stealing time from my true responsibilities to be with you because, frankly, I can’t fucking help it.”

“So I’m a rent boy, bringing you low.”

“We arrived here in _your_ car, Dean, and you can leave in it, if you prefer,” Cas said, not casually, but calmly. “I paid for a meal, nothing more.” He looked back over his shoulder, narrowly avoided batting his eyes at Dean and said, with an archly histrionic sigh, “I didn’t think we were going to be breaking up quite this fast, especially since I never got the chance to rim you and, Dean, I was so looking forward to it,” at which point Dean made a little whiny exhalation that could have meant anything from enthusiasm to disgust.

“Tell me more,” Dean allowed.

“Not if you’re going to be calling yourself a rent boy,” Cas said. “You’re every day of thirty-five, Dean, you don’t get away with calling yourself that.”

Dean glared at Cas and, again, in spite of himself, briefly laughed. “Wanna bang this old fucker?”

“Very well and very hard,” Cas said. They started to walk around to a side door, to Dean’s visible relief. “The first night we had sex you said you had plans for that mouth. If it was a line, it sure worked.”

“I was pretty drunk. I wasn’t in any shape to remember any lines I might’a memorized; I think you got that one for free,” Dean said.

“You seemed a lot more sober than me.”

“Practice.”

“That worries me.”

“We’ve been dating less than two days and you’re already on at me about my alcohol consumption.”

“Does that worry _you_? I thought we were friends with benefits, not dating,” Cas said.

Dean’s voice reached into the bottom of his register and scraped along the ground for a while. “Either way my drinking will always be the perfect break up excuse.”

“Do you drive drunk?”

“What? No! Okay, I used to, but then my brother rang my bell pretty hard.”

“Your brother punched you?” Cas said in disbelief.

“Oh, repeatedly,” Dean said with a reminiscent smirk and eye roll. “Fucker’s got the reach on me, so best I could do for most of _that_ fight was try to warm my hands up in his armpits. Got a couple of awesome shots in to his ribs, but I got a concussion for my trouble. I’m man enough to admit I got beat.”

“And you’re okay with that.”

“Fuck, no. I’m not okay with getting a concussion, that’s crazy talk.”

“Why put up with it?”

“I’m not trusting you with my childhood telenovela and all its sad deaths and fucked-up shit, not yet. Not until you rim me and fuck me at _least_ a couple of times.”

“So we have to stay together that long, say a couple of weeks.”

“You were planning on dragging it out for a couple of weeks?” Dean asked in mock disbelief. “I figure you’d dump me once you found I didn’t meet your standards.”

“Dean, come here. Kiss me. I wasn’t kidding. I’ll date you until you walk away.”

“You’re convinced I will.”

“I can’t hurt you more than your childhood did,” Cas said, almost shrugging. “I don’t want to re-traumatize you, either. You don’t think you deserve anything good. You’ll fight for other people to have it - you told me you put that long-armed brother of yours through Stanford,” Cas said in an aside, “But happiness isn’t your bag.”

“It’s not my experience of life,” Dean said. It came out like pure gravel again.

“I understand. I’m changing the subject. Climb those stairs, turn right, end of the hall, door with an ornamental glass doorknob. Get cleaned up, if you want to feel my tongue worshipping your ass.”

“If I’m not a rent boy, why are you ordering me around?” Dean complained… but not very loud.

“Because for about an hour I intend to treat you like the softest, tightest, most eager-to-please power bottom who ever jizzed his brains out for me.”

“Uh,” said Dean. “Yeah.” He didn’t exactly launch himself up the stairs but he wasn’t waiting to be oversold, that was for sure.

At the top he paused and looked over the railing.

“Do you really think I’m a power bottom?”

“Doesn’t really matter what I think, Dean,” Cas said. His face, looking up, was a mask of deviltry. “What matters is that you take it for as long and as hard as I give it to you.”

Dean’s face became as expressionless as that of any angel in an icon. He blinked, and vanished.

“Well, now,” Castiel purred to himself. He went to his office and checked his email and voicemail; there was nothing resembling a crisis. He glanced at his watch and figured he’d given Dean enough time to clean up.

Dean was on his knees already.

“Really, Dean. Such enthusiasm.”

“I can’t really wait. I’m so wound right now that I almost want to ask you to cuff me so I can’t play with myself.”

“I want you to do whatever gives you the most pleasure. I want to lick your beautiful asshole and then stretch you out with a nice big dildo and then I want to fuck you until you feel me melt inside your belly.”

“Oh,” Dean said into the pillow.

“Enthusiastic consent?”

“Jesus, Cas, yeah, all of it!” Dean roared into the pillow.

“That’s more like it,” and in a little under a second Cas was planting a little smooch on the underside of Dean’s cock. Cas briefly sucked the cock head into his mouth and grinned to himself and let go as Dean swore. He licked the underside as much as he could reach and then wetted his tongue and licked thirty times, counting, from taint to spine, across and past Dean’s asshole.

Dean held himself still and panted, hard, but said not a word, seemed almost mindless. He loved this attention, had been craving it.

“I changed my mind,” Cas said. “I want to open you with my fingers. They’ll be warmer,” he added.

Dean made a little noise, and then shook himself as if to remind himself that he had to speak. “Fingers sound good.”

“I hope so.” Cas returned to licking Dean’s asshole. He paused. “For the next little while, I’d like to make a new rule. You can move as much as you want, but only speak when you want me to change what I’m doing. You can either tell me what to do or let me switch it up.”

“So if it’s perfect I stay quiet?”

“That would be quite a compliment. But then there’s social pressure on you being quiet anyway. That’s why I want you to be a power bottom. Always, always tell me what you want, unless you want what I’m giving you.”

“Shut up and get your fingers in my ass.”

“This was what I was driving at.”

“Mm aw oh. Yeah, more lube. Oh.” Dean didn’t say another sentence for twenty minutes.

That sentence was, “Don’t you dare come yet,” and Cas laughed and said, “Timing,” and came, hard.

“What about me,” Dean said.

“You have access to any orifice I possess and I’ll invent them if I have to,” Cas swore.

Dean said in a sappy voice, “Can we write that into our marriage vows, I think that’s romantic as fuck.”

“I am romantic as fuck. That’s why this whole doomed romance thing is doing so well for me. However that won’t get your jizz on my face, so what’s your pleasure?”

“You’d let me come on your face?”

“‘Course. It’s what friends do, as long it stays out of hot tubs and spas and my eyes.”

“Would you let me come on your face while other men were watching?”

“Dean… blackmail material.”

“I stopped remembering you were rich while you were pounding me in the ass,” Dean said apologetically.

“If I give you a blow job that will suck you dry of next week’s come, while fingering your come-sloppy ass, will that make you feel less gloomy?” Dean made a noise that Cas was starting to associate with enthusiastic consent.

Cas got busy. He learned early that closer to the root Dean preferred a hand. He loved a thumb on his taint while Cas’s fingers swirled in his loose and lovely ass; every part of Cas’s ingenious hands and expertly pumping mouth was put to the test. Dean’s come tasted almost coppery and he groaned with the last of the spasms, belly tightening one last time as he arched his back.

After he turned on his side, unspeaking, away from Cas. Cas mopped up what he could reach and rested his arm across Dean and thought he might have pulled off being deliriously happy two days in a row, so that probably meant seven years of bad luck, like breaking a mirror… god, Dean felt so damned good, lying next to him….

and he woke up and Dean was there, snoring gently next to him, and his brother was looming over him.

“Crap, can’t you just be a civilized human and call?” Cas yelped. Dean woke up, and sat up hard.

“I remember this asshole,” Dean said, the picture of injured innocence as he remembered Michael’s face from when everyone ganged up on Cas during his disastrous hotel checkout. _Also, holy fuck, so hot_ , Cas thought.He sat up, unconsciously lining up with Dean.

“Mickey, Dean, Dean, Mickey,” Cas said with a wholesome, winning smile.

Like an icicle made out of air, “I go by Michael these days,” Michael said.

“Sure thing, Mick,” Dean said, and with that, he stole clean away with whatever tiny sliver of Cas’s heart he had not previously owned. He shot side eye at Cas, just long enough to establish that Cas was cool with him being unwelcoming to his brother.

“So, do you own this joint,” Dean said, asking a question without ever making a sound of enquiry. He got out of bed, stark naked, and approached Michael, who showed immediate and quite justified alarm. It was all Cas could do not to laugh.

“Me? No, I, er,” said Michael.

“Me and Anna own it. Michael’s a guest,” Cas said.

“What?” Michael said. He wasn’t used to being defied and it made him look like a complete assclown.

Dean halted and gave Michael the elevator stare. He took his time as he looked him up and down, like he was a department store dummy, wearing a witty tie in an otherwise boring ensemble.

“So who let you in?” Dean purred.

Michael frowned. He knew it was a trick question, somehow, but Cas would call him on a lie, he knew that without asking, so he said, “I have a key.”

After, Dean told him that was what the stare had been for, trying to determine the location of the key chain. Sometimes, when you were an EMT, knowing how to get into or how to secure a gun safe or other lock box would save your life and someone else’s down the line.

At the time, Dean had intuited that Michael having a key no longer worked for Cas. He moved in a pink and tan blur while Michael squawked like a frightened bird and stepped ineffectually backward. Dean seized him, got his keys off him while rubbing his dick on the bottom of his suit jacket and pant leg, let go of Michael and tossed the keys to Cas, while Michael, stunned into silence punctuated by his huffy, hostile breathing, glared at both of them in turns.

Dean said, “I don’t think I got it all. Throw me the washcloth,” and Cas had the joy of watching Michael process exactly what Dean was referring to - slowly, but inexorably - and to consider the streaks on his clothes with the kind of disgusted wrath one normally associated with a cartoon character.

“Oh, Dean,” Cas said, his heart in his eyes and a tiny thread of caution in his voice.

“You can let yourself out,” Dean said, to Michael.

Cas got out of bed. “I’ll walk you to the door.” Dean dropped one shoulder, winked and waggled the fingers of one hand at Michael. Cas grabbed a bathrobe as he passed its hanger; Michael was probably quite tired of looking at his junk.

Michael stayed quiet until the door was closed. “You little shit! Where the fuck did you find him, at a freak show? He _smeared_ himself on me!”

“You burst into my room after Dean and I had sex in it. Is that an untoward response – a man vigorously defending the privacy of the man he loves?”

“You met him two days ago! He doesn’t love you!”

Cas smiled. “Then it’s what turns into love. Before he knew who I was, before anything, I was a guy ruining his evening because he was scared to leave me alone. He saved my life. I woke up choking and he saved me. He’s been nothing but sweet to me. Fuck you. I’m going to talk to Anna and change the locks.”

“Keep your septic little love nest,” Michael said, nose in the air.

“Septic. Wow. When you’re a homophobe, Michael, you’re really not at your best.” Cas pulled his door keys off Michael’s key ring and handed it back to him.

“Keep him out of the press, too,” Michael said.

“Now what?” Cas said.

“I’m trying to grow my business, not give it away. And if you’re so interested in getting rid of it why not sign it over to me?”

He was on the doorstep, turned around.

“Because, my darling scumbag brother, you’d strip the assets, fire the workers, lobby against all regulations and piss on climate change and soil and habitat restoration after the mine’s played out…. but only when the press wasn’t looking. I’m winding my part up responsibly. Dean will have no part in that. I can already tell he’s not interested in helping me with that except by being in my life. And he doesn’t want money, I already know that, too. He doesn’t need me, and I don’t need him. We just want to be together, and thank God that’s no crime. Whatever the fuck you’re up to would be a thousand times worse than any honest mistakes I could make.”

Cas slammed the door.

Dean came up behind him and embraced him, putting his chin on his shoulder. “Think I’m too dumb to help you with your business?” Which was not subtle, but Cas now knew he’d overheard at least part of that.

“No, you’re exactly too smart to get dragged into it,” Cas said, with emphasis. “And I will love you, until the end of time, and possibly beyond it, for what you did getting that key back. You’ve made an enemy for life in my brother, though.”

“Like he’ll pay to have me killed?”

Cas was taken aback, making a little frown. “Wow. As much as I think he’s a self-deluding jerk, I think killing my brave and handsome EMT boyfriend would probably not go over that well. But he would never lift a finger to help you, if you were in danger, though, so try not to jump into a rip tide or wrestle a bear while he’s watching.”

“Right.” There was a long pause. “Boyfriend.”

“Yeah, sorry. I mean, you may not want me to call you that.”

“It’s having an effect on me,” Dean said, and shifted his hips against Cas’s ass.

Coda

Inias asked for a raise a week later, after he reviewed the security footage and saw Cas and Dean test the strength of the furniture in the front entranceway. There was sound to go with the video. He cycled through amusement, horror, disgust and admiration as he watched.

When he told Cas, his discomfort was quite obvious. “Can you, er, make a copy and then scrub the system?”

“Is this likely to happen again?” Inias asked pointedly. He was a great employee, but he had his limits.

“Er,” Cas said.

“Fine,” Inias said, maybe a little more clipped with his boss than was wise. “I’ll turn the interior cameras off, then.”

Dean giggled guiltily, hearing about it later. Months after, he bought Inias earplugs and a sleep mask for Christmas, and openly wondered if there was any surviving surveillance footage of Cas during their epic ‘Meet Puke’. Inias woodenly said, “Do you want me to try to locate that, sir?” and frowned as Cas and Dean looked at each other and Cas said, “The vase in the hotel.”

They flopped down on the sofa, killing themselves laughing. Then they just looked at each other, like they expected the world to screech to a halt, just for them, and Inias, unnoticed, rolled his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Marshmallow fluff is more substantive than this story, and that's a good thing for them as needs it.


End file.
